Title: Stick-At-Naught Strider
Author: Estel Baggins macfal1219@comcast.net
Pairings: No willing ones. ;-)
Rating: R, I think
Summary: In the book, Bill Ferny says to the hobbits as they're leaving
Bree with Strider, ".I suppose you know who you've taken up with? That's
Stick-at-naught Strider, that is! Though I've heard other names not so
pretty. Watch out tonight!..." Here is the tale that preceded those
insults.
Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien owns the characters and the world I'm about to
toy with. The only things I own are the Rangers Mordecai, Kedi, and my dog,
Honor.
Warning: Rape
Chapter One: First Evening in Bree
Aragorn strode from his father's house with his heart high. Despite his father's words that he must travel in the Wilds for a long time, and despite his separation from Arwen, he couldn't help but rejoice in his freedom. A new bow and arrows, a gift from Elladan, rode on his back, and two finely carved, perfectly balanced knives were perched above the quiver, where he could reach them quickly with both hands if need arose. These, and their sheaths, had been given to him by Elrohir. Glorfindel had provided him with a leather pouch, large enough to carry several waterskins and other assorted necessities. The pouch was covered with Elvish writing and designs. Skillfully sewn green leaves encircled the top. And Narsil rode on his left hip, though he had a whole sword in another sheath above it.
The sky, too, seemed to be celebrating his freedom, and he sang to the sun. He was still deep in the woods and had no fear of meeting others.
***
He'd had time to settle down as he spied Bree in the distance. He'd begun to think of the other Rangers he was going to meet. Would they accept him? Would they make him their chief simply because he was Arathorn's son? At that moment, he felt more like Elrond's son, having never really known his father. Besides, if they made him their chief, what would he do? He'd never commanded men before!
'I'll have to worry about it when I get there. They can't drive me away; they wouldn't. They're my people, and all I have to do is be willing to learn from them, and equally willing to teach. I know a lot of lore, and maybe not all the songs of the elves are known to them.'
When he entered the gates, the guard gave him a funny look, but didn't say anything, and Aragorn didn't even see the unfavorable gaze he'd drawn. He went straight to the Prancing Pony, thinking perhaps he'd see other Rangers there. Elladan and Elrohir, who had often ridden with the Dunedain in their pursuit of orcs, told him that many Rangers stopped there.
Inside, everything was smoky and loud. No one seemed to notice his entrance. He went to the bar, ordered a little meat and ale, took these things to a shadowed corner table and sat down to eat and to wait. It was almost impossible to find Rangers in the Wild, though if they didn't come in two days he would head for the borders of the Shire and hunt for them there.
As he waited, he studied those that entered the Pony. One was a short Southerner, and his eyes gleamed unpleasantly in the candle light. Several hobbits entered. These seemed to be local hobbits, as they were greeted by many of the bigger Breelanders with loud, welcoming calls. Aragorn had never seen a hobbit, and so he gazed at them in awe. He watched them smoking, and wondered what their smoke tasted like. He'd smoked a pipe or two in his lifetime, but his last one was nearly a year behind him.
***
'Well, I don't like the look of him. I never have and I never will. but he seems to be up to something worse than usual this night,' thought Barty Butterbur, innkeeper at the Prancing Pony. He was wiping down the bar and watching young Bill Ferny, who in turn was watching a stranger who had entered the inn a good two hours ago. Well, the stranger was definitely different, but he didn't seem to be causing any trouble. He was obviously a traveler, probably from far beyond Bree, but there was certainly no harm in that. Perhaps, after a little, he could even be drawn out in conversation. He was sure to bring news with him from distant and strange parts. The people of Bree would be more than willing to listen to his tales, just as long as whatever dangers and wonders he spoke of occurred far from their doors.
Barty had thought at first that the man might be a Ranger, but there was something that dispelled this belief. Even though he couldn't see the man's face well, Barty felt sure that the stranger wasn't very old, and all the Rangers seemed older than Bree itself.
Bill Ferny stood up then and the innkeeper watched him warily. The young Ferny, trying to look twice his age of nineteen years, stalked across the room, his boots thudding on the rough, wooden planks. At least a dozen pairs of eyes went with him.
The stranger raised his head when Ferny was a mere three feet away, but he hadn't removed his hood, so his face remained mostly hidden. There was a little beard on his chin, but not much. "Can I help you?" the man asked, his tone that of a man talking to a friend.
'No,' Barty decided, 'he definitely isn't a Ranger.'
"Who are you?" Ferny asked bluntly. "We don't see many strangers in Bree."
"I am a traveler out of the south," the man answered. Then he took his hood off and his smile shone in the firelight. He held his hand out to Ferny. Barty noticed that he was quite handsome with his well-chiseled features and grey eyes.
Ferny grunted, and ignored the outstretched hand. "We aren't used to foreigners here. State your business."
The man seemed amused. "Is this an interrogation? As I told the guard at the gate, I am traveling and simply wished to have a roof over my head and good food in my stomach. Also, I've heard the beer and ale of the Pony praised, and I wanted to test it for myself. It's excellent."
"Who praised it?" Ferny was leaning over him. Many more pairs of eyes were watching now.
The man shrugged. "Does it matter where praise comes from?"
To Barty, he sounded a little nervous. 'You're walling yourself into a corner, friend, and make no mistake. Be careful now.'
For a wonder, Ferny took a step back. "You're nothing more than a pup, are you? Well, best be on your guard, pup; some people are less willing than I am to accept half-answers. Drink your fine ale, but don't drown in it." He walked away, and the eyes followed him, though many people shot furtive glances at the stranger, who touched his hood, then decided to leave it on his shoulders.
Barty shook his head. 'That was too close,' he thought, starting to wipe the bar again. 'What with Ferny's temper we might have had a row.' He glanced at the young man again, then thought, 'Or maybe not. He seems the peaceful type, even though I think he might be greener than growing pipeweed.'
Chapter Two: Hello, Longshanks
Aragorn had taken a room at the Prancing Pony that night, and as he curled into bed, his thoughts were turned to the warm rooms and friendly faces of Rivendell. By this time, Elladan and Elrohir were probably squabbling and laughing over a chess game. Maybe Glorfindel, Linder and Erestor were singing in the Hall of Fire, with Elrond listening nearby. Or maybe, as it was still comfortably warm at night, being late summer, the elves of his home were dancing under the stars.
He closed his eyes to picture more clearly these happy things, and a face crowded into his mind. The man who had drilled him, Ferny, Aragorn had heard someone call him, was once again frowning at him. The man seemed to be his age or slightly younger, and Aragorn was disturbed at how much the man had gotten under his skin. In his mind, Ferny's dark eyes glinted dangerously and he again questioned Aragorn over and over as Aragorn tried endlessly to stay one step ahead of him. Gradually, these musings passed into a dream.
Aragorn was standing in the middle of a large, dim room. Bill Ferny was leaning against a wall across from him. He was sneering at Aragorn, and the young man felt a strong desire to draw his sword. 'No. I must control my temper. Just because he doesn't like me doesn't mean he's a threat. And even if he is a threat, he may be one I can step around. I won't fight unless I have to. That's no way to start my life as a Ranger.'
Ferny took a step towards him, and his hand was held up, palm out, in token of peace. His face reformed itself, with apparent difficulty, into a benign smile. "I'd like to teach you something, Aragorn."
"How do you know my name?" It was out before he could stop himself.
"I am a friend of the Rangers. I know several of them. They should be passing through here in a few days. Also, my father knew your father, and from his description, you look just like him." He was walking ever closer.
Suddenly, someone seized his wrists harshly and dragged his hands above his head. There, they were lashed together. His muscles groaned at the rough treatment, and Aragorn twisted against the bonds.
The dream faded, and he blinked in the darkness, trying to see. Someone was leaning over him, blocking the rest of the room from view. Aragorn tired to move his hands, and found them lashed to the bedposts.
The figure above him bent closer, and held up a candle. "Hello, Longshanks," Bill Ferny whispered, and he licked his lips.
Even though he'd barely been outside Rivendell, Aragorn knew immediately what the hunger in the man's eyes meant, and he jerked his knee up, catching Ferny in his ribs, as the man was leaning over him from where he stood on the floor next to the bed.
Ferny staggered sideways with a grunt, and Aragorn pulled at the ropes that held him down. As he struggled, listening to Ferny's pained gasps, he saw that six or seven other men were standing in the shadows. Did he dare shout for help? Would any come? As yet, the men showed no signs of moving towards him; perhaps they didn't want to be known.
Ferny was straightening, but as he moved forward again, his vision still blurred with tears of pain, Aragorn caught him in the chest with another vicious kick. Again, Ferny reeled.
"Tie him down, you fools!" Ferny rasped, clutching at his chest.
Now the men came forward, and Aragorn raised his voice. "Help! Help! Thieves! Thieves in the house!" This wasn't exactly true, but it was more likely to get an answer than a shout of "Rape!"
Then the men were on him, grabbing his legs- two had to seize each leg, and they found themselves hard-pressed. Two still stood a little back, knowing they would be more of a hindrance than a help in such close quarters. The last one punched Aragorn stunningly hard in his jaw. Aragorn continued to yell and to fight desperately. The man hit him again, then reached out to try and stint his bellows. Aragorn bit his hand.
"Fool!" Ferny choked. He stumbled into Aragorn line of sight, and dealt a blow to the man's temple. The world swam, and Aragorn's whole body went limp for a moment. That was all Ferny needed. "Bind his legs!" He swung his leg over Aragorn and sat on his chest, taking a strip of cloth and gagging his victim.
Aragorn's senses returned slowly, and he groaned as the world spun sickeningly around him. He couldn't breathe right, and it seemed as though a huge weight was sitting on his chest. He struggled to focus, and then something happened that brought his awareness back to full alert status: someone touched him between his spread legs. Growling through the gag, fear strengthening him even as it cleared his mind, he tired to kick again, but his legs were now bound as securely as his hands. He swore.
Bill Ferny slid down a little, so that he could rub against Aragorn. He licked his lips again, and leered at the terror Aragorn was powerless to keep from his eyes. "As I said, hello, Longshanks. Do you want to play with me? I promise I'll make it pleasurable for me and quick for you. Well, maybe not that quick, since you put up such a fight." He stroked Aragorn's cheek, and the young man tried to pull away. "You're very beautiful, did you know that?" He ruffled Aragorn's long, chestnut-brown hair. "And it's been a while since I've seen such dashing grey eyes." He bent forward and licked Aragorn's nose, all the while rubbing against him, growing harder each moment. He kissed Aragorn's nose where he'd licked, then sat up. "Is the rest of you as beautiful as your face?" He worked at the leather thong holding Aragorn's shirt closed. When his shirt hung open, Ferny touched his nipples with a feathery, childish touch, then ran his hands over Aragorn's chest. "So strong," he taunted as Aragorn struggled and mumbled through the gag. Bill moved down, undoing the shirt the rest of the way, letting it fall open onto the bed. He ran his hands over Aragorn's abs, which were well- formed, and made his rod throb with need. Partially to distract himself, and because he wanted to hurt Aragorn, he punched his victim with both fists in his sides. Aragorn grunted, and sweat broke out on his brow. Ferny moved even lower. He took out a knife and held it in front of Aragorn's eyes. "I'm going to cut your pants away. You're going to be a good pretty one and hold still, or I might cut you by accident." He turned his eyes to his knife-work. 'Less than three weeks out of Rivendell and I'm already eye-high in shit.' This was a phrase Elrohir used frequently, and Aragorn usually laughed at it, but he found nothing humorous about it at the moment. He tried to force his mind to be clear, but the terror overcame him and he could only concentrate on the feeling of Ferny's rough hands between his legs. When he'd cut the pants away, Bill simply gazed at the man's rod for a long moment, and he felt his own swell again. "I'm going to enjoy this," he whispered. Then he turned to the men who had retreated back into the shadows. "Come help me turn him over." One of them, the one Aragorn had bit, grumbled, "We should have tied him like that in the first place." "I needed to see if he was worthy of me," Ferny answered. "Besides, don't you want a taste of him, too?" The man nodded, and when he saw Aragorn lying naked in the candlelight he smiled, and his complaints were forgotten. Among many grunts and curses, they managed to turn Aragorn over and rebind him. All seven of them were careful this time, and Aragorn had no chance to fight at all. Ferny slid down between Aragorn's legs and ran his fingers down Aragorn's back and over his butt, caressing. Aragorn tightened all of his muscles. "Now, that isn't going to do anything but hurt you. If you relax, my going in won't hurt much, but if you fight, it's going to feel like I'm stabbing you. So, if you'll just relax." He ran his finger down Aragorn's crack. Aragorn moaned in terror. "Ah, you like it, do you?" Ferny repeated his gesture, and Aragorn tensed up as much as he could, sucking in his breath. Ferny plunged into him, and gasped with pleasure.
Aragorn screamed through the gag, which made his cry only a whimper. "Well, I warned you about tensing, didn't I?" He pushed in again and again, harder each time, until his climax came and he shuddered, sweating and grunting, above Aragorn. At last, he withdrew and sat back, his whole body trembling slightly from the aftermath of his release. Aragorn was sobbing, but it couldn't be heard, and his tears couldn't be seen as he buried his head in the pillow. All seven of Ferny's helpers had their time with him, then Ferny satisfied himself once more. He rose, and took his knife. He cut the ropes binding Aragorn. Aragorn didn't stir; he was too weak from struggling and from fear. Ferny spat on him, then he and his friends left the room, closing the door behind them.
Chapter Three: Kedi and Mordecai
"I have no wish to stop at the Prancing Pony," said Kedi as he and his friend, Mordecai, saw the village in the middle distance.
"It's going to rain so hard everything will be half-drowned by midmorning," Mordecai told his black-haired, fiery-eyed friend, studying the lightening sky. Dawn had passed an hour ago, but clouds from the West were moving in fast.
"I don't want their looks on me today," Kedi grumbled, kicking at a loose stone when he came to it. "I'll lose my temper if one more idiot calls me 'foul Ranger'."
"They don't know what we do for them, and that is how it has to be. We must live in secrecy, of no account to any until the appointed hour."
"I don't see why. There's no way we're ever going back to Gondor. Have you met Denethor? He's ten times as stubborn as his father, and when he becomes Steward of Gondor there will be no peace between us. And with Arathorn dead-"
"His son still lives," Mordecai answered, bringing his eyes down from the sky.
"That's only a hope," Kedi responded. "And it's a feeble one at that. We don't even know if Gilraen reached Rivendell."
"I believe she did, and I believe young Aragorn survived."
"You were only a child yourself when he was taken away, to the safety of the elves." He shook his head, and Mordecai didn't miss the doubt in his statement. "I know they're supposed to be safer, but maybe we could have just cared for him."
"With the Nazgul seeking him behind every bush and up every tree? No, this was the only way. And I was fourteen when Aragorn was taken away; I remember Arathorn and Gilraen better than you do. He was strong, and so was she. I am sure she and the Heir of Isildur arrived at Rivendell safely."
"Then why haven't we seen him yet?"
"It's not the right time."
"How can you be complacent?" Kedi flared.
"Because I have faith." Mordecai smiled. "Come on; let's leave this outside the village, shall we? Let's get into Bree and find ourselves some warm porridge."
***
Aragorn lay flat on his stomach. He'd managed only to draw his legs together. The pain wasn't more than he'd ever suffered, having broken three ribs and his left leg when he was fifteen, but the horror and shame kept him immobile. His mind wouldn't focus on anything, and so he reeled from terror to horror to numbness and back.
'Will they come back? If they do.
'I've been raped. I can't.
'I can't face anyone. Not my brothers, not.
'How long do I have before he comes back? What if.
'I'm a whore.
'I can't face the Rangers, but I can never go home. 'What if he only went for more of his friends.
At last, his body took matters into its own hands. Aragorn felt a powerful urge to retch, and dragged himself to the edge of the bed. He threw up in the chamber pot. There was already come in the pot; it glistened slightly in the candlelight, and in the weak light that trickled through the shutters. Aragorn retched until there was nothing more to bring up, then dry-heaved for another minute or so until his stomach cramped and he felt only shame. 'What sort of reaction is this for the son of Arathorn?'
"No," he whispered, mopping his mouth with his arm. "I'm not his son. I'm a whore. I couldn't fight orcs or men or Nazgul weak as I am."
His body again pushed him into motion. He shoved himself up into a sitting position, went to the wash basin, beside which stood a ewer filled to the top with icy water. He washed his face, his hands, chest and arms, then suddenly looked down. Blood was drying on the insides of his thighs, and he wondered what his ass must look like. An urge to retch nearly overcame him, but he mastered it and finished cleaning himself. Then he turned back to the bed. The bed sheets were torn and bloody. His clothes were destroyed, of course, but his attackers hadn't bothered to go through his pack, which he had set in one corner. He was grateful for this oversight as he pulled out a clean tunic and a pair of trousers. When he was dressed, he went back to the wash basin, and, using the rest of the water and a little soap, he washed his hair.
"I'll be damned if anyone will see that they attacked me," he vowed as he scrubbed mercilessly at his scalp.
Twenty minutes later, he went down to the common room for breakfast. It was very quiet at this time of the morning, and a hobbit was tending to orders instead of Barty, who was still abed. Aragorn saw two men sitting in one corner, smoking and eating eggs, and he steered clear of them.
The hobbit came to him, and bowed slightly. "Good morning, sir. What would you like? We've got eggs and toast and bacon and fried potatoes and porridge."
Aragorn's stomach gave a lurch at the mention of food and he wondered why he had come into the common room at all. "Can you give me a while to think about it? Just bring me some water, please."
The hobbit made his tiny bow and headed away.
A creaking floorboard drew Aragorn's attention, and he stared up at the man who was walking towards him. He was very close already, too close for Aragorn's liking. The young man got up hastily. His hand fell to his sword, glad he was wearing it.
The man held up his hands. And then he did something Aragorn could have never anticipated: he spoke in Elvish. "I didn't mean to disturb you. My name is Mordecai Dunadan." He bowed in a way that Elladan had taught Aragorn, saying, "This is how the Rangers greet their own, as well as their friends."
Aragorn stood stock still for a moment, then answered in Elvish, "My name is Estel. How did you know to speak to me in Elvish?"
"Your pouch has Elvish runes on it, and your knives, bow and arrows are of Elvish make." He smiled. "The Dunedain are good friends with the Elves."
"How do you know I didn't just steal these things?" Aragorn challenged.
"You walk like a man who grew up around Elves. Also, I recognized you."
"That's doubtful, as I've rarely left my home, and few know where it lies."
"When I said I recognized you, what I meant is that you look like your father, Arathorn, Heir of Isildur and Chief of the Dunedain." He bowed again, more deeply this time. "Are you Aragorn, his son? If so, we have been waiting in hope for over eighteen years for you to come back to us."
"If I'm not Aragorn, you've just told me an awful lot of information. What if I was one of the Enemy's servants?"
"Then I'd be called a fool, but I trust my instincts." He rose out of his bow and waited patiently.
The hobbit appeared at that moment, setting Aragorn's water on the table. "Is there a problem here, sirs?" he asked carefully, knowing they were both bigger and stronger than he was, but also knowing it was his secondary duty to keep peace.
Aragorn answered, "All is well." And he sat down. Or rather, his knees came unhinged and he sank into his chair. "Please, join me, friend. Is that other man with you?"
"Yes." Mordecai gestured, and Kedi walked over to join them.
When they were all seated, and the hobbit had gone back to the bar, Aragorn asked, his eyes lowered, "Did you know my father?"
Mordecai nodded. "Yes. I was only fourteen when. when the orcs attacked him, but I knew both he and Gilraen as wonderful, strong, powerful people."
Kedi stared at Aragorn. He was only a year or two older than the man across from him, and yet he felt as though this man was a child who knew nothing of the world.
Mordecai had the foresight of his people, and he could see that Aragorn had known precious little of the world until very recently, and what he'd learned, something very unpleasant, surely, didn't sit well on his young shoulders, broad though they were. "Were you looking for us, Son of the North?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Aragorn answered. "My brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, have often ridden with you, and they said I might find Rangers here if I was patient."
"How can the sons of Elrond be your brothers?" Kedi interjected.
"I was raised as Elrond's son," Aragorn answered, and he lifted his head to meet Kedi's gaze. "They always called me their little brother."
"How long have you been here in Bree?" Mordecai pursued.
"I arrived yesterday evening."
Mordecai nodded. "Elladan spoke of you to me once, but I didn't know he was speaking of you, as he gave me the name you gave at first: Estel. Hope. It is a very suitable name. This was some ten or twelve years ago, and he said you were an excitable, bright child who loved his sword overmuch."
Aragorn smiled, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. If he'd been truly in doubt, all concern was gone. These truly were Rangers, his people. But the tears weren't happy ones. These were his people, and he wasn't worthy to sit at table with them. He started to get up.
Mordecai reached out and caught his arm. "Aragorn, please don't go just yet."
The kindness in his voice made the tears come faster, and he pulled so hard to get away that he stumbled over his chair and fell hard to the floor.
"You really should be more careful, Longshanks. You might get hurt."
Aragorn's heart leapt into his throat, and he got up so fast he knocked into the table and his water tipped and soaked the front of his clothes.
"I didn't think big men wet themselves like that," Ferny continued.
Kedi got up quickly, but Mordecai caught his arm. "No," he whispered. "Let me handle this."
"And what do you think you're going to do, Dark-Eye?" Ferny demanded.
Mordecai ignored the name, thinking that he preferred it to Ferny knowing his real name. He didn't want his name soiled by such a man speaking it. He stood also/ "I suggest you take yourself off home, Mr. Ferny. This doesn't concern you."
Ferny laughed and spat on the floor. "He's dirt, and I can treat him however I want."
The bow was in Kedi's hands so fast Ferny didn't even see him draw it. In another half-instant, he had fitted an arrow to it. "Get out," he ordered simply.
Ferny got out.
Mordecai sighed. "You can't always resort to your weapons, Kedi."
"He left, didn't he?"
Mordecai sighed again, but he wasn't really exasperated. Truth to tell, he'd been about thirty seconds from drawing his own bow.
"Where'd he go?" Kedi exclaimed, and Mordecai looked to where Aragorn had been. He'd left a trail of dripping water out of the room.
"Come on," Mordecai said. "He's very upset."
"What about? We found him, didn't we? And he's going to do what he's probably been hearing about since he was very little."
"It's not that. Something frightened him, and I mean more than that bastard's son coming in. Aragorn's afraid of him for a reason, and we need to find out what's wrong."
"He was afraid. no, something else. even before that jackass came in."
Mordecai nodded, slightly impressed. "Agreed."
***
Aragorn staggered into his room and slammed the door behind him. He went to grab his pack, glad everything was in it. He couldn't think about where he would go or what he would do, but he was not worthy to be the Chief of the Dunedain, and he would never earn that right. He had been marked as a whore, and no amount of washing or hoping or good, valiant deeds could remove that stain.
He slung the pack onto his shoulder, and straightened.
His vision exploded with light as a fist connected with his jaw. He staggered, overbalanced because of the heavy pack, and fell. Before he could even begin to clear his vision, he felt the sharp tip of a knife pressing against his throat.
"So, you're running, are you, Longshanks? Well, maybe that's for the best. After all, who'd want to talk to you? Once they know you've submitted to me, they won't want you. They won't talk to you in that pretty language of theirs. Were they speaking Elvish? I think they were. And Elvish is only meant for elves, and honorable men. You defiled the language when you spoke it, whore."
Bill Ferny was touching him again, and Aragorn froze, just as he had after the man had violated him. "So, since you know all of this already, you're trying to run. Well, I don't blame you. I think I've found a good name for you, though, Longshanks: I think I'll call you Stick-at-naught Strider. You were too much of a coward to fight me last night, and you're too much of a coward to tell them the truth about you. Yes, you'll run away today, and keep running, for where can you go? No one will want you, and if you lie and tell them you're honorable, they'll see in your eyes that you're dirt. No one will ever trust or follow you; you would be better suited to a life as a whore, a slave, or a dead man. Whichever you choose, I'll help you accomplish it." He licked his lips, and his fingers stroked Aragorn's manhood faster. "If you serve as my whore, I'll see to it that you get nearly as much pleasure as you give. I'll teach you how to ask for pleasure from others, and also how to pleasure yourself."
"Unless you want to learn how to breathe through your asshole, I suggest you get up very slowly."
Ferny's hands shook, and Aragorn, his body again working seemingly of its own accord against his mind, which was in numb with horror and shame, pulled away from the deadly blade, striking Ferny's hand with a closed fist. He rolled away, drawing his sword as he regained his feet some four feet from his enemy. He took three more steps back, his blade held ready, and felt a little safer.
Bill was staring at the place where Aragorn had lain, and he showed no signs of moving. His breath came fast and rasping, and sweat was streaking down his skin.
"Rise, snake," Mordecai demanded, his bowstring still pulled back. Kedi stood beside him in an identical pose. "Turn around slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them."
"If you kill me, you'll be hung," Ferny threatened, but his voice was shaking. He stood, then turned to face them. "You're nothing but foul, maggot-bred Rangers, and I'm a respected-" He gulped as Kedi pulled his bowstring back a little more.
"Keep talking," Kedi invited, a snarl twisting his visage. His nearly- black eyes sparkled with malicious laughter and fury. "Give me an excuse."
"Get out," Mordecai ordered. "And if I see you while we're remaining in Bree, I'll kill you." He moved aside, and Ferny passed between the two Dunedain, his arms held to his sides, his eyes straight ahead. His legs shook, but he managed to walk from the room.
Kedi put his bow away and slammed the door behind Ferny as Mordecai turned to Aragorn, also putting how in its place on his back. The young man had dropped his sword as the knowledge that he wasn't fit to wield it hit him. The Rangers, his people, were both looking at him now and he bowed his head.
"Aragorn, are you hurt?" Mordecai asked carefully.
'I'm a whore. I can't say that to him! They deserve to know the truth.' Aragorn shook his head.
"Where are you injured?" He took another step, and Aragorn backed hastily away, running into the wall. Aragorn shuddered, thinking that maybe this man who had known his father would kill him for soiling his family name, and for taking all hope from the Dunedain. 'I've failed myself, but I've failed them, too, and I've failed Gondor. I'll never see the city, unless I become a whore there.' Mordecai held up his hands. "Aragorn, you don't need to fear us. We are your people. Some men are evil, aye, like that scum that just left, but you can trust the Dunedain." "But you can't trust me," Aragorn blurted. Strangely, this loosened his tongue. He'd already admitted one of the worst facts; all that was left was for him to confess everything. 'I may be a whore, but I will be honorable in my dealings with worthy men. I will not be Stick-at-naught Strider, at least not yet.' Mordecai was staring at him, trying to think of something to say. Aragorn forestalled him. "Dunadan, I am a whore. I cannot serve in my father's place. I gave up that honor; someone else has led you for this long; let him continue to do so. I am sorry that my actions have led to my dishonor, because I have not only betrayed myself, but my father, the Dunedain, and Gondor as well. No king will now sit on that throne, and I am sorry I have destroyed so many years of secrecy and toil. Please punish me in any way that seems acceptable to you. I will bear it without complaint." Kedi stared at the young man, and felt sick. How could the son of Arathorn be a whore? He glanced at Mordecai, but the older man's face was completely blank. Kedi looked back at Aragorn, and saw that he was staring at the floor, waiting. Mordecai took in a deep breath. "Who told you that you are a whore?" he asked slowly. He wasn't looking at Aragorn, but over his head. Truth to tell, he was very close to losing himself to three separate emotions, and he didn't want to look into Aragorn's eyes and thus give into them. Mirth, rage and grief chased each other around inside of him, and his belly roiled with their race even as his throat constricted. "I have been used, and so I am a whore." "Did you want to be used?" Mordecai pursued. "Who used you?" Kedi interrupted. "Shh," Mordecai ordered. "Please, Aragorn, answer my question." "No, but it doesn't matter. I-" "If you're sorry for everything that happened," Mordecai chastened sharply, "you'll only answer the questions I ask, and offer no comments." "Yes, sir," Aragorn whispered. "Did you ask to be used?" "No, sir." "Did you want him to use you?" "No, sir." Still staring at the floor. "Was it Ferny that raped you?" "Yes, sir, and some of his friends." "What is your name?" Aragorn blinked, so startled that he almost looked up. "Answer me," Mordecai commanded, and Aragorn stared back at the floor. "Aragorn." "Whose son are you?" "Arathorn's." "Recite your lineage. Who killed Sauron, and what was he to you?" "Isildur, so of Elendil, killed Sauron, with his father's sword. Isildur is my ancestor, in an unbroken line from father to son that has lasted for two and half thousand years. I am his Heir, and heir to the throne of Gondor." "Can any man take away your right to the throne?" Aragorn hesitated. "Can any man take away the right that flows in your veins?" "No, sir." "You have the right to sit on that throne, because you are the son of Arathorn. Did Arathorn have the right to command the Dunedain and seek a way to the throne of Gondor?" "Yes, sir." "Then you do, because he did." "Sir?" Aragorn looked up and now he met Mordecai's eyes. "May I ask a question?" "Of course." "My blood is tainted, sir. I am-" "That is not a question," Mordecai told him, but his voice was gentle. "Aragorn, you need to understand something." He stepped closer, and put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "You didn't want to be raped; you fought him, I know you did. Do you think all the work of your ancestors can be undone by one lustful man?" He continued, liking the uncertainty he saw in Aragorn's eyes. It meant he was thinking past the lies Ferny had told him. "The Enemy wants you to give up, to run away. We want you to come with us, to learn from us, to seek the throne of Gondor, and we will not stop hunting you until you agree to do those things." Kedi gazed at Mordecai in surprise. 'All right,' he conceded, 'maybe Halathneh was right to send you with me to Bree. You've talked our hopes right back into the sky.' Aragorn looked at the fierce determination in Mordecai's eyes, and responded to it. "I will go with you, and do as you ask." He stood straight, his head raised, his shoulders squared. Mordecai nodded, and whispered, "Remember, young one, you're only dirty as long as you think yourself so." He dropped to one knee and bowed, his hands at his chest. Kedi imitated him. "We are your people, Lord Aragorn, Dunadan, Chief of the Men of Numenor. We will follow you into every shadow, and we will help you through every struggle. I pledge my fealty to you." "As do I," Kedi added, and he thought, slightly dazed, 'This is right. This is now it should be.'
Chapter Four: Leaving Bree
Sixty Years Later
'Of course Bill Ferny would try to keep us here. Of course he would help to steal the hobbits' ponies. If I'd had any sense, I would have gone on, tired though they were. We should have left Bree last night. But, ah, no, the Nazgul were hunting, and we couldn't leave. There is no way we could have improved our fortunes. We must be glad that we're alive this morning.'
Aragorn didn't allow any of his dark thoughts to show on his face as the hobbits ate. They were nervous enough, and he didn't dare point out that they were luck to be alive at all. No, the hobbits were not ready to hear how badly things were going.
When Bob informed them that they could get only one pony, and from Bill Ferny, Aragorn's blood boiled, but he kept a calm face. Being a Ranger for sixty years had cooled his mind, and only strengthened his resolve. He'd had mercifully few dealings with Ferny since that terrible night, but he didn't fear the man anymore. After fighting Nazgul and walking in the Shadow, one petty, scheming man couldn't frighten him.
Still, as the hobbits ate, Aragorn remembered one encounter clearly. He'd been coming to Bree, nearly sixteen years ago, to sell firewood to Butterbur's son, also named Barliman. This was something that the Rangers had done in the past, when their need was great, but it hadn't happened since before Aragorn's father, and so Butterbur was startled when Aragorn offered him well-seasoned wood for a little silver.
Butterbur gazed at the Ranger. "I'd like to know why you're doing this. The Rangers have never been traders."
"I am in need of certain things: cooking pots, well-made boots. And for those things I need silver," Aragorn had answered. Truth be told, he needed the silver to settle a disagreement between his men and the king of Mirkwood, but hardly need be common knowledge.
"Then why don't you just steal it, Strider?" asked a drawling voice.
Aragorn turned slowly. Bill Ferny was standing in the doorway to Butterbur's office, his thumbs hooked into his belt. He'd aged poorly, Aragorn thought, and this made him smile, though secretly.
To Ferny, he said, "Mordecai isn't here right now, but I'll carry out his threat if you'd like. I have my bow right here."
Ferny took a step back. "Do the Rangers like their whore, Stick-at- naught?" His voice was uncertain, even as he tried to taunt, and he was edging towards the door.
Aragorn drew his bow, and fitted an arrow to it in half the time it takes to tell. Ferny froze, his leer stuck on his face. His eyes went to the arrow, then to Aragorn's face. He held up his hands. "A joke, Ranger, nothing more."
"Get out," Aragorn commanded. Just like before, Ferny got.
In Bree, with the hobbits getting ready around him, Aragorn smiled slightly.
"You have something pleasant on your mind," Frodo murmured from where he stood beside him.
Aragorn glanced at the observant hobbit, and nodded. "Yes. Don't fear the road ahead, Frodo. We will reach Rivendell."
***
They were on the road leaving Bree, Aragorn knowing that they would be followed if they headed into the fields too soon, as the Breelanders wouldn't want them trespassing. As they came to the end of the village, and the south gate, Bill Ferny called to them. His eyes were narrowed and his face was grey with stubble. He stank.
He took a short, black pipe out of his mouth. "Morning, Longshanks! Off early? Found some friends at last?"
Aragorn merely nodded. Bill Ferny wasn't even worth thinking about. He had other concerns at the moment.
"Morning, my little ones!" Ferny crooned to the hobbits, and three of the four small ones stared straight ahead. Frodo glanced at Strider, as though looking for strength, and Aragorn smiled reassuringly at him. "I suppose you know who you've taken up with? That's Stick-at-naught Strider, that is! Though I've heard other names not so pretty!"
Against his will, and certainly contrary to his better judgment, Aragorn glanced at the braying man. Ferny mouthed, "Whore" at him, but he didn't have the courage to say it. His fear of Aragorn was too strong. He felt safe enough behind his hedge to taunt a little, though.
"Watch out tonight!" Ferny continued. "And you, Sammie, don't you go Ill-treating my poor old pony! Pah!" He spat, and the gesture was probably meant for Sam, but his eyes never left Aragorn. Scorn and fear in equal measure danced in their depths.
Sam turned quickly, and before Aragorn could stop him, he returned, "And you, Ferny, put your ugly face out of sight or it will get hurt." An apple left his hand and hit Ferny hard on his nose. It was a shot, Aragorn thought, that a Ranger could be proud of, and he thought fleetingly of Kedi teaching him how to throw knives accurately shortly after he'd joined the Dunedain.
They could all hear curses coming clearly from behind the hedge. Aragorn allowed a small, satisfied smile to cross his lips; he would have to thank Sam later.
"Waste of a good apple," Sam muttered as they left Bree.
"Maybe you should have waited until it had rotted a little before throwing it," Aragorn answered.
Sam glanced up at him in surprise, but then he smiled.
Chapter One: First Evening in Bree
Aragorn strode from his father's house with his heart high. Despite his father's words that he must travel in the Wilds for a long time, and despite his separation from Arwen, he couldn't help but rejoice in his freedom. A new bow and arrows, a gift from Elladan, rode on his back, and two finely carved, perfectly balanced knives were perched above the quiver, where he could reach them quickly with both hands if need arose. These, and their sheaths, had been given to him by Elrohir. Glorfindel had provided him with a leather pouch, large enough to carry several waterskins and other assorted necessities. The pouch was covered with Elvish writing and designs. Skillfully sewn green leaves encircled the top. And Narsil rode on his left hip, though he had a whole sword in another sheath above it.
The sky, too, seemed to be celebrating his freedom, and he sang to the sun. He was still deep in the woods and had no fear of meeting others.
***
He'd had time to settle down as he spied Bree in the distance. He'd begun to think of the other Rangers he was going to meet. Would they accept him? Would they make him their chief simply because he was Arathorn's son? At that moment, he felt more like Elrond's son, having never really known his father. Besides, if they made him their chief, what would he do? He'd never commanded men before!
'I'll have to worry about it when I get there. They can't drive me away; they wouldn't. They're my people, and all I have to do is be willing to learn from them, and equally willing to teach. I know a lot of lore, and maybe not all the songs of the elves are known to them.'
When he entered the gates, the guard gave him a funny look, but didn't say anything, and Aragorn didn't even see the unfavorable gaze he'd drawn. He went straight to the Prancing Pony, thinking perhaps he'd see other Rangers there. Elladan and Elrohir, who had often ridden with the Dunedain in their pursuit of orcs, told him that many Rangers stopped there.
Inside, everything was smoky and loud. No one seemed to notice his entrance. He went to the bar, ordered a little meat and ale, took these things to a shadowed corner table and sat down to eat and to wait. It was almost impossible to find Rangers in the Wild, though if they didn't come in two days he would head for the borders of the Shire and hunt for them there.
As he waited, he studied those that entered the Pony. One was a short Southerner, and his eyes gleamed unpleasantly in the candle light. Several hobbits entered. These seemed to be local hobbits, as they were greeted by many of the bigger Breelanders with loud, welcoming calls. Aragorn had never seen a hobbit, and so he gazed at them in awe. He watched them smoking, and wondered what their smoke tasted like. He'd smoked a pipe or two in his lifetime, but his last one was nearly a year behind him.
***
'Well, I don't like the look of him. I never have and I never will. but he seems to be up to something worse than usual this night,' thought Barty Butterbur, innkeeper at the Prancing Pony. He was wiping down the bar and watching young Bill Ferny, who in turn was watching a stranger who had entered the inn a good two hours ago. Well, the stranger was definitely different, but he didn't seem to be causing any trouble. He was obviously a traveler, probably from far beyond Bree, but there was certainly no harm in that. Perhaps, after a little, he could even be drawn out in conversation. He was sure to bring news with him from distant and strange parts. The people of Bree would be more than willing to listen to his tales, just as long as whatever dangers and wonders he spoke of occurred far from their doors.
Barty had thought at first that the man might be a Ranger, but there was something that dispelled this belief. Even though he couldn't see the man's face well, Barty felt sure that the stranger wasn't very old, and all the Rangers seemed older than Bree itself.
Bill Ferny stood up then and the innkeeper watched him warily. The young Ferny, trying to look twice his age of nineteen years, stalked across the room, his boots thudding on the rough, wooden planks. At least a dozen pairs of eyes went with him.
The stranger raised his head when Ferny was a mere three feet away, but he hadn't removed his hood, so his face remained mostly hidden. There was a little beard on his chin, but not much. "Can I help you?" the man asked, his tone that of a man talking to a friend.
'No,' Barty decided, 'he definitely isn't a Ranger.'
"Who are you?" Ferny asked bluntly. "We don't see many strangers in Bree."
"I am a traveler out of the south," the man answered. Then he took his hood off and his smile shone in the firelight. He held his hand out to Ferny. Barty noticed that he was quite handsome with his well-chiseled features and grey eyes.
Ferny grunted, and ignored the outstretched hand. "We aren't used to foreigners here. State your business."
The man seemed amused. "Is this an interrogation? As I told the guard at the gate, I am traveling and simply wished to have a roof over my head and good food in my stomach. Also, I've heard the beer and ale of the Pony praised, and I wanted to test it for myself. It's excellent."
"Who praised it?" Ferny was leaning over him. Many more pairs of eyes were watching now.
The man shrugged. "Does it matter where praise comes from?"
To Barty, he sounded a little nervous. 'You're walling yourself into a corner, friend, and make no mistake. Be careful now.'
For a wonder, Ferny took a step back. "You're nothing more than a pup, are you? Well, best be on your guard, pup; some people are less willing than I am to accept half-answers. Drink your fine ale, but don't drown in it." He walked away, and the eyes followed him, though many people shot furtive glances at the stranger, who touched his hood, then decided to leave it on his shoulders.
Barty shook his head. 'That was too close,' he thought, starting to wipe the bar again. 'What with Ferny's temper we might have had a row.' He glanced at the young man again, then thought, 'Or maybe not. He seems the peaceful type, even though I think he might be greener than growing pipeweed.'
Chapter Two: Hello, Longshanks
Aragorn had taken a room at the Prancing Pony that night, and as he curled into bed, his thoughts were turned to the warm rooms and friendly faces of Rivendell. By this time, Elladan and Elrohir were probably squabbling and laughing over a chess game. Maybe Glorfindel, Linder and Erestor were singing in the Hall of Fire, with Elrond listening nearby. Or maybe, as it was still comfortably warm at night, being late summer, the elves of his home were dancing under the stars.
He closed his eyes to picture more clearly these happy things, and a face crowded into his mind. The man who had drilled him, Ferny, Aragorn had heard someone call him, was once again frowning at him. The man seemed to be his age or slightly younger, and Aragorn was disturbed at how much the man had gotten under his skin. In his mind, Ferny's dark eyes glinted dangerously and he again questioned Aragorn over and over as Aragorn tried endlessly to stay one step ahead of him. Gradually, these musings passed into a dream.
Aragorn was standing in the middle of a large, dim room. Bill Ferny was leaning against a wall across from him. He was sneering at Aragorn, and the young man felt a strong desire to draw his sword. 'No. I must control my temper. Just because he doesn't like me doesn't mean he's a threat. And even if he is a threat, he may be one I can step around. I won't fight unless I have to. That's no way to start my life as a Ranger.'
Ferny took a step towards him, and his hand was held up, palm out, in token of peace. His face reformed itself, with apparent difficulty, into a benign smile. "I'd like to teach you something, Aragorn."
"How do you know my name?" It was out before he could stop himself.
"I am a friend of the Rangers. I know several of them. They should be passing through here in a few days. Also, my father knew your father, and from his description, you look just like him." He was walking ever closer.
Suddenly, someone seized his wrists harshly and dragged his hands above his head. There, they were lashed together. His muscles groaned at the rough treatment, and Aragorn twisted against the bonds.
The dream faded, and he blinked in the darkness, trying to see. Someone was leaning over him, blocking the rest of the room from view. Aragorn tired to move his hands, and found them lashed to the bedposts.
The figure above him bent closer, and held up a candle. "Hello, Longshanks," Bill Ferny whispered, and he licked his lips.
Even though he'd barely been outside Rivendell, Aragorn knew immediately what the hunger in the man's eyes meant, and he jerked his knee up, catching Ferny in his ribs, as the man was leaning over him from where he stood on the floor next to the bed.
Ferny staggered sideways with a grunt, and Aragorn pulled at the ropes that held him down. As he struggled, listening to Ferny's pained gasps, he saw that six or seven other men were standing in the shadows. Did he dare shout for help? Would any come? As yet, the men showed no signs of moving towards him; perhaps they didn't want to be known.
Ferny was straightening, but as he moved forward again, his vision still blurred with tears of pain, Aragorn caught him in the chest with another vicious kick. Again, Ferny reeled.
"Tie him down, you fools!" Ferny rasped, clutching at his chest.
Now the men came forward, and Aragorn raised his voice. "Help! Help! Thieves! Thieves in the house!" This wasn't exactly true, but it was more likely to get an answer than a shout of "Rape!"
Then the men were on him, grabbing his legs- two had to seize each leg, and they found themselves hard-pressed. Two still stood a little back, knowing they would be more of a hindrance than a help in such close quarters. The last one punched Aragorn stunningly hard in his jaw. Aragorn continued to yell and to fight desperately. The man hit him again, then reached out to try and stint his bellows. Aragorn bit his hand.
"Fool!" Ferny choked. He stumbled into Aragorn line of sight, and dealt a blow to the man's temple. The world swam, and Aragorn's whole body went limp for a moment. That was all Ferny needed. "Bind his legs!" He swung his leg over Aragorn and sat on his chest, taking a strip of cloth and gagging his victim.
Aragorn's senses returned slowly, and he groaned as the world spun sickeningly around him. He couldn't breathe right, and it seemed as though a huge weight was sitting on his chest. He struggled to focus, and then something happened that brought his awareness back to full alert status: someone touched him between his spread legs. Growling through the gag, fear strengthening him even as it cleared his mind, he tired to kick again, but his legs were now bound as securely as his hands. He swore.
Bill Ferny slid down a little, so that he could rub against Aragorn. He licked his lips again, and leered at the terror Aragorn was powerless to keep from his eyes. "As I said, hello, Longshanks. Do you want to play with me? I promise I'll make it pleasurable for me and quick for you. Well, maybe not that quick, since you put up such a fight." He stroked Aragorn's cheek, and the young man tried to pull away. "You're very beautiful, did you know that?" He ruffled Aragorn's long, chestnut-brown hair. "And it's been a while since I've seen such dashing grey eyes." He bent forward and licked Aragorn's nose, all the while rubbing against him, growing harder each moment. He kissed Aragorn's nose where he'd licked, then sat up. "Is the rest of you as beautiful as your face?" He worked at the leather thong holding Aragorn's shirt closed. When his shirt hung open, Ferny touched his nipples with a feathery, childish touch, then ran his hands over Aragorn's chest. "So strong," he taunted as Aragorn struggled and mumbled through the gag. Bill moved down, undoing the shirt the rest of the way, letting it fall open onto the bed. He ran his hands over Aragorn's abs, which were well- formed, and made his rod throb with need. Partially to distract himself, and because he wanted to hurt Aragorn, he punched his victim with both fists in his sides. Aragorn grunted, and sweat broke out on his brow. Ferny moved even lower. He took out a knife and held it in front of Aragorn's eyes. "I'm going to cut your pants away. You're going to be a good pretty one and hold still, or I might cut you by accident." He turned his eyes to his knife-work. 'Less than three weeks out of Rivendell and I'm already eye-high in shit.' This was a phrase Elrohir used frequently, and Aragorn usually laughed at it, but he found nothing humorous about it at the moment. He tried to force his mind to be clear, but the terror overcame him and he could only concentrate on the feeling of Ferny's rough hands between his legs. When he'd cut the pants away, Bill simply gazed at the man's rod for a long moment, and he felt his own swell again. "I'm going to enjoy this," he whispered. Then he turned to the men who had retreated back into the shadows. "Come help me turn him over." One of them, the one Aragorn had bit, grumbled, "We should have tied him like that in the first place." "I needed to see if he was worthy of me," Ferny answered. "Besides, don't you want a taste of him, too?" The man nodded, and when he saw Aragorn lying naked in the candlelight he smiled, and his complaints were forgotten. Among many grunts and curses, they managed to turn Aragorn over and rebind him. All seven of them were careful this time, and Aragorn had no chance to fight at all. Ferny slid down between Aragorn's legs and ran his fingers down Aragorn's back and over his butt, caressing. Aragorn tightened all of his muscles. "Now, that isn't going to do anything but hurt you. If you relax, my going in won't hurt much, but if you fight, it's going to feel like I'm stabbing you. So, if you'll just relax." He ran his finger down Aragorn's crack. Aragorn moaned in terror. "Ah, you like it, do you?" Ferny repeated his gesture, and Aragorn tensed up as much as he could, sucking in his breath. Ferny plunged into him, and gasped with pleasure.
Aragorn screamed through the gag, which made his cry only a whimper. "Well, I warned you about tensing, didn't I?" He pushed in again and again, harder each time, until his climax came and he shuddered, sweating and grunting, above Aragorn. At last, he withdrew and sat back, his whole body trembling slightly from the aftermath of his release. Aragorn was sobbing, but it couldn't be heard, and his tears couldn't be seen as he buried his head in the pillow. All seven of Ferny's helpers had their time with him, then Ferny satisfied himself once more. He rose, and took his knife. He cut the ropes binding Aragorn. Aragorn didn't stir; he was too weak from struggling and from fear. Ferny spat on him, then he and his friends left the room, closing the door behind them.
Chapter Three: Kedi and Mordecai
"I have no wish to stop at the Prancing Pony," said Kedi as he and his friend, Mordecai, saw the village in the middle distance.
"It's going to rain so hard everything will be half-drowned by midmorning," Mordecai told his black-haired, fiery-eyed friend, studying the lightening sky. Dawn had passed an hour ago, but clouds from the West were moving in fast.
"I don't want their looks on me today," Kedi grumbled, kicking at a loose stone when he came to it. "I'll lose my temper if one more idiot calls me 'foul Ranger'."
"They don't know what we do for them, and that is how it has to be. We must live in secrecy, of no account to any until the appointed hour."
"I don't see why. There's no way we're ever going back to Gondor. Have you met Denethor? He's ten times as stubborn as his father, and when he becomes Steward of Gondor there will be no peace between us. And with Arathorn dead-"
"His son still lives," Mordecai answered, bringing his eyes down from the sky.
"That's only a hope," Kedi responded. "And it's a feeble one at that. We don't even know if Gilraen reached Rivendell."
"I believe she did, and I believe young Aragorn survived."
"You were only a child yourself when he was taken away, to the safety of the elves." He shook his head, and Mordecai didn't miss the doubt in his statement. "I know they're supposed to be safer, but maybe we could have just cared for him."
"With the Nazgul seeking him behind every bush and up every tree? No, this was the only way. And I was fourteen when Aragorn was taken away; I remember Arathorn and Gilraen better than you do. He was strong, and so was she. I am sure she and the Heir of Isildur arrived at Rivendell safely."
"Then why haven't we seen him yet?"
"It's not the right time."
"How can you be complacent?" Kedi flared.
"Because I have faith." Mordecai smiled. "Come on; let's leave this outside the village, shall we? Let's get into Bree and find ourselves some warm porridge."
***
Aragorn lay flat on his stomach. He'd managed only to draw his legs together. The pain wasn't more than he'd ever suffered, having broken three ribs and his left leg when he was fifteen, but the horror and shame kept him immobile. His mind wouldn't focus on anything, and so he reeled from terror to horror to numbness and back.
'Will they come back? If they do.
'I've been raped. I can't.
'I can't face anyone. Not my brothers, not.
'How long do I have before he comes back? What if.
'I'm a whore.
'I can't face the Rangers, but I can never go home. 'What if he only went for more of his friends.
At last, his body took matters into its own hands. Aragorn felt a powerful urge to retch, and dragged himself to the edge of the bed. He threw up in the chamber pot. There was already come in the pot; it glistened slightly in the candlelight, and in the weak light that trickled through the shutters. Aragorn retched until there was nothing more to bring up, then dry-heaved for another minute or so until his stomach cramped and he felt only shame. 'What sort of reaction is this for the son of Arathorn?'
"No," he whispered, mopping his mouth with his arm. "I'm not his son. I'm a whore. I couldn't fight orcs or men or Nazgul weak as I am."
His body again pushed him into motion. He shoved himself up into a sitting position, went to the wash basin, beside which stood a ewer filled to the top with icy water. He washed his face, his hands, chest and arms, then suddenly looked down. Blood was drying on the insides of his thighs, and he wondered what his ass must look like. An urge to retch nearly overcame him, but he mastered it and finished cleaning himself. Then he turned back to the bed. The bed sheets were torn and bloody. His clothes were destroyed, of course, but his attackers hadn't bothered to go through his pack, which he had set in one corner. He was grateful for this oversight as he pulled out a clean tunic and a pair of trousers. When he was dressed, he went back to the wash basin, and, using the rest of the water and a little soap, he washed his hair.
"I'll be damned if anyone will see that they attacked me," he vowed as he scrubbed mercilessly at his scalp.
Twenty minutes later, he went down to the common room for breakfast. It was very quiet at this time of the morning, and a hobbit was tending to orders instead of Barty, who was still abed. Aragorn saw two men sitting in one corner, smoking and eating eggs, and he steered clear of them.
The hobbit came to him, and bowed slightly. "Good morning, sir. What would you like? We've got eggs and toast and bacon and fried potatoes and porridge."
Aragorn's stomach gave a lurch at the mention of food and he wondered why he had come into the common room at all. "Can you give me a while to think about it? Just bring me some water, please."
The hobbit made his tiny bow and headed away.
A creaking floorboard drew Aragorn's attention, and he stared up at the man who was walking towards him. He was very close already, too close for Aragorn's liking. The young man got up hastily. His hand fell to his sword, glad he was wearing it.
The man held up his hands. And then he did something Aragorn could have never anticipated: he spoke in Elvish. "I didn't mean to disturb you. My name is Mordecai Dunadan." He bowed in a way that Elladan had taught Aragorn, saying, "This is how the Rangers greet their own, as well as their friends."
Aragorn stood stock still for a moment, then answered in Elvish, "My name is Estel. How did you know to speak to me in Elvish?"
"Your pouch has Elvish runes on it, and your knives, bow and arrows are of Elvish make." He smiled. "The Dunedain are good friends with the Elves."
"How do you know I didn't just steal these things?" Aragorn challenged.
"You walk like a man who grew up around Elves. Also, I recognized you."
"That's doubtful, as I've rarely left my home, and few know where it lies."
"When I said I recognized you, what I meant is that you look like your father, Arathorn, Heir of Isildur and Chief of the Dunedain." He bowed again, more deeply this time. "Are you Aragorn, his son? If so, we have been waiting in hope for over eighteen years for you to come back to us."
"If I'm not Aragorn, you've just told me an awful lot of information. What if I was one of the Enemy's servants?"
"Then I'd be called a fool, but I trust my instincts." He rose out of his bow and waited patiently.
The hobbit appeared at that moment, setting Aragorn's water on the table. "Is there a problem here, sirs?" he asked carefully, knowing they were both bigger and stronger than he was, but also knowing it was his secondary duty to keep peace.
Aragorn answered, "All is well." And he sat down. Or rather, his knees came unhinged and he sank into his chair. "Please, join me, friend. Is that other man with you?"
"Yes." Mordecai gestured, and Kedi walked over to join them.
When they were all seated, and the hobbit had gone back to the bar, Aragorn asked, his eyes lowered, "Did you know my father?"
Mordecai nodded. "Yes. I was only fourteen when. when the orcs attacked him, but I knew both he and Gilraen as wonderful, strong, powerful people."
Kedi stared at Aragorn. He was only a year or two older than the man across from him, and yet he felt as though this man was a child who knew nothing of the world.
Mordecai had the foresight of his people, and he could see that Aragorn had known precious little of the world until very recently, and what he'd learned, something very unpleasant, surely, didn't sit well on his young shoulders, broad though they were. "Were you looking for us, Son of the North?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," Aragorn answered. "My brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, have often ridden with you, and they said I might find Rangers here if I was patient."
"How can the sons of Elrond be your brothers?" Kedi interjected.
"I was raised as Elrond's son," Aragorn answered, and he lifted his head to meet Kedi's gaze. "They always called me their little brother."
"How long have you been here in Bree?" Mordecai pursued.
"I arrived yesterday evening."
Mordecai nodded. "Elladan spoke of you to me once, but I didn't know he was speaking of you, as he gave me the name you gave at first: Estel. Hope. It is a very suitable name. This was some ten or twelve years ago, and he said you were an excitable, bright child who loved his sword overmuch."
Aragorn smiled, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. If he'd been truly in doubt, all concern was gone. These truly were Rangers, his people. But the tears weren't happy ones. These were his people, and he wasn't worthy to sit at table with them. He started to get up.
Mordecai reached out and caught his arm. "Aragorn, please don't go just yet."
The kindness in his voice made the tears come faster, and he pulled so hard to get away that he stumbled over his chair and fell hard to the floor.
"You really should be more careful, Longshanks. You might get hurt."
Aragorn's heart leapt into his throat, and he got up so fast he knocked into the table and his water tipped and soaked the front of his clothes.
"I didn't think big men wet themselves like that," Ferny continued.
Kedi got up quickly, but Mordecai caught his arm. "No," he whispered. "Let me handle this."
"And what do you think you're going to do, Dark-Eye?" Ferny demanded.
Mordecai ignored the name, thinking that he preferred it to Ferny knowing his real name. He didn't want his name soiled by such a man speaking it. He stood also/ "I suggest you take yourself off home, Mr. Ferny. This doesn't concern you."
Ferny laughed and spat on the floor. "He's dirt, and I can treat him however I want."
The bow was in Kedi's hands so fast Ferny didn't even see him draw it. In another half-instant, he had fitted an arrow to it. "Get out," he ordered simply.
Ferny got out.
Mordecai sighed. "You can't always resort to your weapons, Kedi."
"He left, didn't he?"
Mordecai sighed again, but he wasn't really exasperated. Truth to tell, he'd been about thirty seconds from drawing his own bow.
"Where'd he go?" Kedi exclaimed, and Mordecai looked to where Aragorn had been. He'd left a trail of dripping water out of the room.
"Come on," Mordecai said. "He's very upset."
"What about? We found him, didn't we? And he's going to do what he's probably been hearing about since he was very little."
"It's not that. Something frightened him, and I mean more than that bastard's son coming in. Aragorn's afraid of him for a reason, and we need to find out what's wrong."
"He was afraid. no, something else. even before that jackass came in."
Mordecai nodded, slightly impressed. "Agreed."
***
Aragorn staggered into his room and slammed the door behind him. He went to grab his pack, glad everything was in it. He couldn't think about where he would go or what he would do, but he was not worthy to be the Chief of the Dunedain, and he would never earn that right. He had been marked as a whore, and no amount of washing or hoping or good, valiant deeds could remove that stain.
He slung the pack onto his shoulder, and straightened.
His vision exploded with light as a fist connected with his jaw. He staggered, overbalanced because of the heavy pack, and fell. Before he could even begin to clear his vision, he felt the sharp tip of a knife pressing against his throat.
"So, you're running, are you, Longshanks? Well, maybe that's for the best. After all, who'd want to talk to you? Once they know you've submitted to me, they won't want you. They won't talk to you in that pretty language of theirs. Were they speaking Elvish? I think they were. And Elvish is only meant for elves, and honorable men. You defiled the language when you spoke it, whore."
Bill Ferny was touching him again, and Aragorn froze, just as he had after the man had violated him. "So, since you know all of this already, you're trying to run. Well, I don't blame you. I think I've found a good name for you, though, Longshanks: I think I'll call you Stick-at-naught Strider. You were too much of a coward to fight me last night, and you're too much of a coward to tell them the truth about you. Yes, you'll run away today, and keep running, for where can you go? No one will want you, and if you lie and tell them you're honorable, they'll see in your eyes that you're dirt. No one will ever trust or follow you; you would be better suited to a life as a whore, a slave, or a dead man. Whichever you choose, I'll help you accomplish it." He licked his lips, and his fingers stroked Aragorn's manhood faster. "If you serve as my whore, I'll see to it that you get nearly as much pleasure as you give. I'll teach you how to ask for pleasure from others, and also how to pleasure yourself."
"Unless you want to learn how to breathe through your asshole, I suggest you get up very slowly."
Ferny's hands shook, and Aragorn, his body again working seemingly of its own accord against his mind, which was in numb with horror and shame, pulled away from the deadly blade, striking Ferny's hand with a closed fist. He rolled away, drawing his sword as he regained his feet some four feet from his enemy. He took three more steps back, his blade held ready, and felt a little safer.
Bill was staring at the place where Aragorn had lain, and he showed no signs of moving. His breath came fast and rasping, and sweat was streaking down his skin.
"Rise, snake," Mordecai demanded, his bowstring still pulled back. Kedi stood beside him in an identical pose. "Turn around slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them."
"If you kill me, you'll be hung," Ferny threatened, but his voice was shaking. He stood, then turned to face them. "You're nothing but foul, maggot-bred Rangers, and I'm a respected-" He gulped as Kedi pulled his bowstring back a little more.
"Keep talking," Kedi invited, a snarl twisting his visage. His nearly- black eyes sparkled with malicious laughter and fury. "Give me an excuse."
"Get out," Mordecai ordered. "And if I see you while we're remaining in Bree, I'll kill you." He moved aside, and Ferny passed between the two Dunedain, his arms held to his sides, his eyes straight ahead. His legs shook, but he managed to walk from the room.
Kedi put his bow away and slammed the door behind Ferny as Mordecai turned to Aragorn, also putting how in its place on his back. The young man had dropped his sword as the knowledge that he wasn't fit to wield it hit him. The Rangers, his people, were both looking at him now and he bowed his head.
"Aragorn, are you hurt?" Mordecai asked carefully.
'I'm a whore. I can't say that to him! They deserve to know the truth.' Aragorn shook his head.
"Where are you injured?" He took another step, and Aragorn backed hastily away, running into the wall. Aragorn shuddered, thinking that maybe this man who had known his father would kill him for soiling his family name, and for taking all hope from the Dunedain. 'I've failed myself, but I've failed them, too, and I've failed Gondor. I'll never see the city, unless I become a whore there.' Mordecai held up his hands. "Aragorn, you don't need to fear us. We are your people. Some men are evil, aye, like that scum that just left, but you can trust the Dunedain." "But you can't trust me," Aragorn blurted. Strangely, this loosened his tongue. He'd already admitted one of the worst facts; all that was left was for him to confess everything. 'I may be a whore, but I will be honorable in my dealings with worthy men. I will not be Stick-at-naught Strider, at least not yet.' Mordecai was staring at him, trying to think of something to say. Aragorn forestalled him. "Dunadan, I am a whore. I cannot serve in my father's place. I gave up that honor; someone else has led you for this long; let him continue to do so. I am sorry that my actions have led to my dishonor, because I have not only betrayed myself, but my father, the Dunedain, and Gondor as well. No king will now sit on that throne, and I am sorry I have destroyed so many years of secrecy and toil. Please punish me in any way that seems acceptable to you. I will bear it without complaint." Kedi stared at the young man, and felt sick. How could the son of Arathorn be a whore? He glanced at Mordecai, but the older man's face was completely blank. Kedi looked back at Aragorn, and saw that he was staring at the floor, waiting. Mordecai took in a deep breath. "Who told you that you are a whore?" he asked slowly. He wasn't looking at Aragorn, but over his head. Truth to tell, he was very close to losing himself to three separate emotions, and he didn't want to look into Aragorn's eyes and thus give into them. Mirth, rage and grief chased each other around inside of him, and his belly roiled with their race even as his throat constricted. "I have been used, and so I am a whore." "Did you want to be used?" Mordecai pursued. "Who used you?" Kedi interrupted. "Shh," Mordecai ordered. "Please, Aragorn, answer my question." "No, but it doesn't matter. I-" "If you're sorry for everything that happened," Mordecai chastened sharply, "you'll only answer the questions I ask, and offer no comments." "Yes, sir," Aragorn whispered. "Did you ask to be used?" "No, sir." "Did you want him to use you?" "No, sir." Still staring at the floor. "Was it Ferny that raped you?" "Yes, sir, and some of his friends." "What is your name?" Aragorn blinked, so startled that he almost looked up. "Answer me," Mordecai commanded, and Aragorn stared back at the floor. "Aragorn." "Whose son are you?" "Arathorn's." "Recite your lineage. Who killed Sauron, and what was he to you?" "Isildur, so of Elendil, killed Sauron, with his father's sword. Isildur is my ancestor, in an unbroken line from father to son that has lasted for two and half thousand years. I am his Heir, and heir to the throne of Gondor." "Can any man take away your right to the throne?" Aragorn hesitated. "Can any man take away the right that flows in your veins?" "No, sir." "You have the right to sit on that throne, because you are the son of Arathorn. Did Arathorn have the right to command the Dunedain and seek a way to the throne of Gondor?" "Yes, sir." "Then you do, because he did." "Sir?" Aragorn looked up and now he met Mordecai's eyes. "May I ask a question?" "Of course." "My blood is tainted, sir. I am-" "That is not a question," Mordecai told him, but his voice was gentle. "Aragorn, you need to understand something." He stepped closer, and put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "You didn't want to be raped; you fought him, I know you did. Do you think all the work of your ancestors can be undone by one lustful man?" He continued, liking the uncertainty he saw in Aragorn's eyes. It meant he was thinking past the lies Ferny had told him. "The Enemy wants you to give up, to run away. We want you to come with us, to learn from us, to seek the throne of Gondor, and we will not stop hunting you until you agree to do those things." Kedi gazed at Mordecai in surprise. 'All right,' he conceded, 'maybe Halathneh was right to send you with me to Bree. You've talked our hopes right back into the sky.' Aragorn looked at the fierce determination in Mordecai's eyes, and responded to it. "I will go with you, and do as you ask." He stood straight, his head raised, his shoulders squared. Mordecai nodded, and whispered, "Remember, young one, you're only dirty as long as you think yourself so." He dropped to one knee and bowed, his hands at his chest. Kedi imitated him. "We are your people, Lord Aragorn, Dunadan, Chief of the Men of Numenor. We will follow you into every shadow, and we will help you through every struggle. I pledge my fealty to you." "As do I," Kedi added, and he thought, slightly dazed, 'This is right. This is now it should be.'
Chapter Four: Leaving Bree
Sixty Years Later
'Of course Bill Ferny would try to keep us here. Of course he would help to steal the hobbits' ponies. If I'd had any sense, I would have gone on, tired though they were. We should have left Bree last night. But, ah, no, the Nazgul were hunting, and we couldn't leave. There is no way we could have improved our fortunes. We must be glad that we're alive this morning.'
Aragorn didn't allow any of his dark thoughts to show on his face as the hobbits ate. They were nervous enough, and he didn't dare point out that they were luck to be alive at all. No, the hobbits were not ready to hear how badly things were going.
When Bob informed them that they could get only one pony, and from Bill Ferny, Aragorn's blood boiled, but he kept a calm face. Being a Ranger for sixty years had cooled his mind, and only strengthened his resolve. He'd had mercifully few dealings with Ferny since that terrible night, but he didn't fear the man anymore. After fighting Nazgul and walking in the Shadow, one petty, scheming man couldn't frighten him.
Still, as the hobbits ate, Aragorn remembered one encounter clearly. He'd been coming to Bree, nearly sixteen years ago, to sell firewood to Butterbur's son, also named Barliman. This was something that the Rangers had done in the past, when their need was great, but it hadn't happened since before Aragorn's father, and so Butterbur was startled when Aragorn offered him well-seasoned wood for a little silver.
Butterbur gazed at the Ranger. "I'd like to know why you're doing this. The Rangers have never been traders."
"I am in need of certain things: cooking pots, well-made boots. And for those things I need silver," Aragorn had answered. Truth be told, he needed the silver to settle a disagreement between his men and the king of Mirkwood, but hardly need be common knowledge.
"Then why don't you just steal it, Strider?" asked a drawling voice.
Aragorn turned slowly. Bill Ferny was standing in the doorway to Butterbur's office, his thumbs hooked into his belt. He'd aged poorly, Aragorn thought, and this made him smile, though secretly.
To Ferny, he said, "Mordecai isn't here right now, but I'll carry out his threat if you'd like. I have my bow right here."
Ferny took a step back. "Do the Rangers like their whore, Stick-at- naught?" His voice was uncertain, even as he tried to taunt, and he was edging towards the door.
Aragorn drew his bow, and fitted an arrow to it in half the time it takes to tell. Ferny froze, his leer stuck on his face. His eyes went to the arrow, then to Aragorn's face. He held up his hands. "A joke, Ranger, nothing more."
"Get out," Aragorn commanded. Just like before, Ferny got.
In Bree, with the hobbits getting ready around him, Aragorn smiled slightly.
"You have something pleasant on your mind," Frodo murmured from where he stood beside him.
Aragorn glanced at the observant hobbit, and nodded. "Yes. Don't fear the road ahead, Frodo. We will reach Rivendell."
***
They were on the road leaving Bree, Aragorn knowing that they would be followed if they headed into the fields too soon, as the Breelanders wouldn't want them trespassing. As they came to the end of the village, and the south gate, Bill Ferny called to them. His eyes were narrowed and his face was grey with stubble. He stank.
He took a short, black pipe out of his mouth. "Morning, Longshanks! Off early? Found some friends at last?"
Aragorn merely nodded. Bill Ferny wasn't even worth thinking about. He had other concerns at the moment.
"Morning, my little ones!" Ferny crooned to the hobbits, and three of the four small ones stared straight ahead. Frodo glanced at Strider, as though looking for strength, and Aragorn smiled reassuringly at him. "I suppose you know who you've taken up with? That's Stick-at-naught Strider, that is! Though I've heard other names not so pretty!"
Against his will, and certainly contrary to his better judgment, Aragorn glanced at the braying man. Ferny mouthed, "Whore" at him, but he didn't have the courage to say it. His fear of Aragorn was too strong. He felt safe enough behind his hedge to taunt a little, though.
"Watch out tonight!" Ferny continued. "And you, Sammie, don't you go Ill-treating my poor old pony! Pah!" He spat, and the gesture was probably meant for Sam, but his eyes never left Aragorn. Scorn and fear in equal measure danced in their depths.
Sam turned quickly, and before Aragorn could stop him, he returned, "And you, Ferny, put your ugly face out of sight or it will get hurt." An apple left his hand and hit Ferny hard on his nose. It was a shot, Aragorn thought, that a Ranger could be proud of, and he thought fleetingly of Kedi teaching him how to throw knives accurately shortly after he'd joined the Dunedain.
They could all hear curses coming clearly from behind the hedge. Aragorn allowed a small, satisfied smile to cross his lips; he would have to thank Sam later.
"Waste of a good apple," Sam muttered as they left Bree.
"Maybe you should have waited until it had rotted a little before throwing it," Aragorn answered.
Sam glanced up at him in surprise, but then he smiled.